


Let Sleeping Demons Sleep

by bandito06



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Fluff and Angst, Gay Panic, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Napping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:00:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25622542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bandito06/pseuds/bandito06
Summary: Crowley decides to take a nap after the Armagedont and Aziraphale tries to take care of him. When Aziraphale hears Crowley sleep talking about him, he wonders how his demon really feels.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 77





	Let Sleeping Demons Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Saw something on Pinterest that gave me this idea. Thanks to the wonderful people who encouraged me!

“Angel, I think I deserve a nap,” Crowley says with a yawn. “Maybe for another century.” Crowley looks at the blond, his eyelids half-closed over his beautiful golden eyes. A pang goes through Aziraphale at the thought of Crowley sleeping for a century. Of not seeing those liquid gold eyes, not hearing Crowley’s snarky words, not talking to his friend for a hundred years. 

The thought of not seeing the man he loves from afar makes his heart hurt. It’s selfish of him to not want Crowley to sleep. Or to ever leave, really. 

“Please, dear, do not sleep for a century. I’m not sure I can wait that long before speaking to you again,” Aziraphale responds, trying his hardest to keep the note of pleading out of his words. Crowley’s eyes open a smidge more and an emotion that Aziraphale can’t figure out flashes across his eyes.

“How ‘bout a week, then. That work for you, angel?” Crowley asks, sprawling across the bookshop’s couch. He closes his eyes without waiting for a response. Aziraphale stands there, unsure of himself, as he watches the anxiety and pain melt away from the ginger’s face. A look of peace settles on the gorgeous face. Aziraphale reaches out and moves a strand of red hair away from Crowley’s face.

He would never tell Crowley this but when the ginger grows his hair out longer, Aziraphale finds it absolutely delightful. Especially when he puts it up in the little half bun. It’s enough to make Aziraphale discorperate on the spot.

The angel smiles softly at his sleeping friend.

A week. 

He could go a week without the ginger. He’d done it before. It would be a terrible week but he could do it. At least it wasn’t a century. That was a good thing. 

Gently placing a tartan blanket over the sleeping figure, Aziraphale decides to settle down with a nice book. Maybe he could just read the week away. That was also something he had done before. It probably would have lasted longer but Crowley had stopped by and dragged Aziraphale out to lunch. Aziraphale hadn’t minded as he got to see the demon. 

Aziraphale settles into his favorite chair across from Crowley and cracks open a book. He lets his eyes travel over the words, greedily taking in the characters and the plot. Maybe this week wouldn’t be so bad.

He lasts an hour.

An hour of reading before he couldn’t read anymore. An hour of words washing over him, attempting to take away his thoughts of Crowley. He had tried to set the thoughts aside, he really did, but he can’t help but wonder if Crowley is having nice dreams and if he is comfortable. A small but bold part of Aziraphale wants to curl up next to Crowley and sleep the week away himself but the larger and more sensible part of him knows that Crowley would never want that. Crowley would never like him the way he likes the gorgeous ginger. They are merely friends. 

Nothing more.

Tell that to my heart, Aziraphale thinks, a touch of sadness invading his thought.

The sound of a phone ringing breaks Aziraphale out of his thoughts. He crosses the room to where the old phone sits, waiting for someone to pick up the receiver. Waiting for words to be shared no matter the distance. 

“Hello,” Aziraphale says, wondering who could possibly be calling at this hour. He could see pedestrians briskly walking to their destinations outside despite the glimmering moon that hangs in the dark sky. Aziraphale wonders how many of them are going home to warm arms and a soft kiss and how many are going home to cold homes and one-person meals.

He banishes the thought. Angels shouldn’t be wondering about the pain and sadness of others. Then again, angels shouldn’t be loving demons. 

What an awful angel, Aziraphale says to himself. You won’t ever be good enough for them of for Crowley.

It’s not entirely his own thought. It’s the thought that Gabriel and every other angel that has had to deal with Aziraphale’s mistakes has had. All because a group that is made to love can’t love the best of them all.

“Oh, Aziraphale! I’m so glad I caught you,” a cheerful voice calls, breaking into the sad thoughts. Aziraphale smiles warmly as Anathema continues. “I’m thinking about proposing to Newt.” Her voice is quiet in an almost conspiratorial manner. “I know, I know, it’s usually the man who proposes but I’m not sure Newt will do it any time soon and I love him. I want to marry him.”

“Anathema, my dear. You have never followed the rules society has placed on you so why start now. I think it’s a wonderful idea. I do hope young Newton has enough sense to say yes,” Aziraphale says, glancing at Crowley. He watches the slight rise and fall of his chest. Damn Heaven and Hell for anything they ever did to Crowley. He is perfect and if they didn’t see it, then they didn’t deserve such a kind and wonderful soul.

“Aziraphale?” Anathema calls.

“I’m sorry dear, I got a bit distracted. What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you and Crowley would like to come by for a visit this week. Newt and I have enough room in our cottage and the Them miss you terribly. You could stop for a visit, maybe even stay the night.” Anathema’s voice is hopeful. Aziraphale doesn’t know what to say. On one hand, he would love to visit but on the other, Crowley was asleep and the angel didn’t dare leave him for too long. Not even for a small trip to Tadfield. Plus, he was sure that Crowley would want to come. The demon has had a soft spot for Adam and his friends after the Armagedon’t despite his insistence that he doesn’t.

“I’m sorry dear, but this week just won’t work. Maybe another week?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Just let me know. I must be going now but hopefully see you soon. And fingers crossed that Newt says yes.” Anathema lets out a nervous laugh.

“I’m sure he will, dear. Talk to you soon.” The call ends with a click and Aziraphale puts the receiver back. Time seems to be flying. It seems like only yesterday Adam faced off against his father and stopped the end of the world when it has been a year. Newt and Anathema were in love. The Them were causing messes in Tadfield and yet Aziraphale had yet to tell Crowley his feelings. Everyone else has been moving forward while Aziraphale is stuck. He knows that one day he will be left behind. He hopes that Crowley will stick around long enough for him to have enough good memories to hold close when the loneliness sinks too deep. 

Aziraphale creeps towards the sleeping figure. The long red hair made it seem like the couch was catching on fire and the thin figure made the couch seem bigger then it was. Aziraphale wonders what it would be like to nudge Crowley to the side and curl up next to him. To pick up the man and carry him to his bed upstairs and cuddle with him.

“I love you, my dear,” Aziraphale whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I know you probably don’t feel the same way and that’s fine but I’ll still love you.”

A soft, “Angel,” escapes Crowley’s lips. At first, Aziraphale thinks the other man woke up but it’s just a dream. “Angel, don’t leave me.” The blond’s heart aches at the words. He could never leave Crowley; his heart and his soul would never allow it.

“I’ll never leave you, love,” he whispers. He sits down next to the couch and rests his head near Crowley’s head. A soft breath tickles his ear. He turns, staring at the sleeping face as if it is the most exquisite piece of art in creation. To Aziraphale, Crowley is a masterpiece. He’s better then any Vangough or Munch piece. He is the Almighty’s best creation. 

“ ‘I love thee with a love that shall not die, till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old.’ “ The words are nothing more than a breath of air, a collection of words that mean nothing to those who are unlucky enough to have never loved. And to those who have, the words ring the truth with every syllable.

Aziraphale knows that, even if he wasn’t immortal, he would love Crowley eternally. His love would live on even after his body would be laid to rest and even after he would be long forgotten by any but his own kin, his love would live on. Even now, if he is forsaken by Heaven and Hell, his love will live on because love is greater than being a part of an army only focussed on the war. Love is the war in which we must fight and to win the war is to gain love. 

“Angel,” Crowley breathes again. Aziraphale studies the ginger’s face, taking the moment to memorize every inch of his face, every line, and every scar. Every inch of skin of the perfect face so that when it’s dark and the nightmares crowd his mind, he can imagine the gorgeous man coming to save him from the dark and from the hidden figures that try to rip him apart. He shudders as a picture of a ghastly hand enters his mind, reaching, reaching for him.

“Angel.” The words are a moan this time and Aziraphale fears that it’s one of pain when he sees a crease in the otherwise peaceful face. He runs a finger lightly across Crowley’s forehead. The crease disappears and a small smile fills his face. Aziraphale smiles. He closes his eyes, feeling Crowley’s warm breath against his face. Maybe a nap wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

Aziraphale wakes sometime later to Crowley whispering something about hellfire. He leans closer to hear the ginger’s words better.

“If you hurt him, I’ll kill you,” Crowley hisses, shifting slightly. One of his arms falls down the side of the couch and rests on Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel wonders what the demon is dreaming about. “Don’t you dare hurt my angel, you bassstardsss!” The words are low and dangerous. “Don’t touch him!” The words turn frantic but still holds a dangerous tone. It reminds Aziraphale of a lion or a snake, tense until it’s time to pounce on its prey. 

“Crowley, darling, it’s okay,” Aziraphale whispers, placing a hand against the ginger’s face. The ginger relaxes into the touch, almost falling off the couch in the process. 

“I love my angel,” Crowley whispers and Aziraphale’s heart skips a beat. He didn’t mean that. It was just a dream. It was just a dream. Aziraphale removes his hand from Crowley’s face, wishing he could remove the grin on his own face. Crowley lets out a soft noise at the lack of contact. He moves slightly, almost falling off the couch again.

“I cannot permit you to be sleeping here if you keep attempting to fall off,” Aziraphale says softly, picking Crowley up easily. The ginger weighs practically nothing. The angel carries Crowley to the bed that is rarely used. Aziraphale doesn’t sleep often and Crowley usually sleeps in his own bed.

He gently sets the sleeping figure down and tucks the blankets around him. Aziraphale hesitates before pulling away. He wonders if he could get away with sitting next to Crowley for a while. He could get up before Crowley woke up. 

Making a decision, Aziraphale lays on top of the blankets, facing towards the demon. A surge of courage sweeps through him. The angel shifts closer to the ginger, not close enough for his liking but it was better than nothing.

Crowley shifts closer to Aziraphale. His head tucks into the crook of the angel’s neck and his left arm wraps around the blond’s waist. There goes Aziraphale’s plan of leaving. Aziraphale decides he would definitely sleep more if this happened every time. 

He closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

Aziraphale wakes up to a loud ringing sound. He blinks the sleep from his eyes before realizing it’s his phone.

He tries to inch his way out of Crowley’s grasp but is unsuccessful. The caller can wait. They can call again if it’s truly important. 

He would rather spend hours lying in Crowley’s arms then talk to the person who dares to interrupt his peace.

Nobody calls again, anyways, so Aziraphale decides to fall asleep again. 

He’s halfway asleep when Crowley starts sleep talking again. 

“You’re so pretty,” Crowley murmurs, nuzzling into Aziraphale’s neck. The angel wonders if he is awake but the slow breathing shows signs of sleep.

“Pretty angel. Ugly demon.” Aziraphale frowns.   
Awake or not, that isn’t true.

“Beautiful demon,” he whispers back, longing to kiss away every mean word and every thought that Crowley isn’t good enough. He longs to lay side by side with the demon and whisper every single reason why he loves Crowley. Every single reason why Crowley is perfect.

“I love my pretty angel,” Crowley huffs. Aziraphale frowns, wondering what the ginger is dreaming about. Surely if he had his eyes on an angel he would have told Aziraphale, right? The blond would be heartbroken but he would support it. 

Or maybe he doesn’t want to tell Aziraphale because he is afraid Aziraphale will get in between Crowley and his angel. Aziraphale wouldn’t. He would rather see Crowley happy and himself in pieces then Crowley heartbroken. 

A single tear falls from the angel’s eye like a lone man trying to make it through the war inside. It’s cruel, love. It’s such a cruel thing. Oh how love can destroy hearts and people. It can mend too but once love destroys, you can’t go back and get rid of the scars.

Aziraphale wonders if he would want to go back. To stop his heart from falling. To stop the pain that courses through his body at the thought of Crowley with someone else. 

Could he even not fall in love? Could he pray to the Almighty and beg her to take away his pain? Could he even go back knowing that this is what love feels like, despite it being one-sided?

Aziraphale knows he would never want to stop loving Crowley even if it tears him to pieces. Crowley fills the empty spaces the other angels drill in him. Without Crowley, those holes may become holes again and Aziraphale fears it would kill him.

The blond squeezes his eyes closed, willing the tears away. He shouldn’t be crying over anybody, let alone a demon! He shouldn’t feel this way at all.

He shouldn’t.

Aziraphale pulls away from Crowley as gently as he can. He makes his way down to his bookstore, makes sure the door is locked, and sits in his favorite chair. He grabs a book and opens it to a random page. He tries to read but can’t focus through the stream of tears rolling down his face. 

“You stupid, stupid angel,” he murmurs to himself. “You shouldn’t have let this happen.” More tears stream down his face as his heart squeezes in his chest. Aziraphale wonders if he can be discorperated from a broken heart. 

It’s not a broken heart until Crowley inevitably rejects me, Aziraphale tells himself savagely. Why would he want me, anyways. He can have anyone he wants. He wouldn’t want someone like me. Someone soft and worthless. 

Tears pour down his face, faster now, like twin waterfalls of misery. Aziraphale doesn’t know how long he sits there before a soft hand rests on his shoulder. 

“Angel? What’s wrong?” a soft voice asks. Aziraphale buries his face in his hands, not wanting Crowley to see his face.

“Nothing, dear,” Aziraphale mumbles, trying to keep his voice steady. “Just was thinking about something.” Crowley wraps long, thin fingers around Aziraphale’s wrists and tries to remove the hands from the blond’s face.

“Angel, talk to me,” Crowley pleads. 

“No, Crowley. I’m fine. Why aren’t you sleeping?” Aziraphale asks, changing the subject. 

“I felt someone’s misery,” Crowley admits. “It didn’t really matter until I realized it was yours.” Crowley gives up trying to see Aziraphale’s face. “Angel-Aziraphale, talk to me, please.” Aziraphale hears the worry in the gingers voice and longs to hug him. Crowley wouldn’t let him, though. 

“It’s really nothing, dear,” Aziraphale says, taking a deep breath. He removes his hands from his face. Crowley’s hair is messy like he just got up—and he probably did just get up—and he isn’t wearing his sunglasses. Beautiful amber eyes peer into blue ones. “I’m just being silly.”

“Oh, Aziraphale, if you were just being silly your emotions wouldn’t feel like this. Something is really bothering you!” Crowley runs a hand through his hair. “You’re really worrying me, angel.” Aziraphale frowns. He slides from his chair to next to Crowley on the floor. 

“I didn’t mean to worry you, dear. I just… promise me you won’t laugh.” Crowley looks at him, eyes serious. 

“Never.” Aziraphale smiles slightly and takes one of Crowley’s hands without thinking. 

“Well, you see, there is this man I lo-like but he’s amazing and would never want to be with someone like me. Someone soft. And I’m afraid that when he finds out he-he will reject me.” Aziraphale stares at his hands, waiting for Crowley to say something—anything.

Aziraphale watches as Crowley’s face goes blank. Even his eyes, which are normally extremely expressive, are blank.

“If he rejects you then he is a bloody idiot,” Crowley responds, looking pained. 

He‘ll think that until he finds out it’s him I’m in love with, Aziraphale thinks bitterly. Then he will go back on his words.

“He isn’t an idiot,” Aziraphale says, defending Crowley from Crowley. “He’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met and he’s beautiful. He’s so beautiful.” Tears start streaming down Aziraphale’s face again. “He deserves so much that I can’t give him. He will never look at me as more than a friend.”

“Bloody idiot.” Crowley says like it solves everything. “Angel-Aziraphale, I’ve known you for 6000 years and I think you're bloody amazing and if this bloke doesn’t then something is wrong with him.”

“Crowley, you don’t understand!” Aziraphale says, desperation creeping into his voice.

“Then explain it.”

“I-I can’t.” Crowley frowns.

“Why not?” Aziraphale shakes his head. 

“You’ll hate me.”

“I could never hate you. Enough of a bastard to be worth knowing, remember?” Aziraphale smiles a small smile. Crowley tentatively touches Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Angel, whatever you need to say, I won’t hate you for. Even if you say you like Gabriel!” Crowley pretends don’t gag.

“Oh, Heavens no! Me in love with Gabriel! That sounds absolutely horrifying.” Aziraphale let’s out a nervous laugh as he realizes he said ‘like’ instead of ‘love’. “I’minlovewithyou.” Crowley looks confused.

“Was I supposed to understand that?” he asks. Aziraphale blushes and looks at his hands. 

“I’m in love with you,” Aziraphale mumbles. An odd look crosses Crowley’s face. 

“Whot was that?” 

“Don’t make me repeat it!” Aziraphale buries his head in his face. He tries to pull away from Crowley who pulls Aziraphale closer. Aziraphale tries to pull away again. “You wily demon, teasing me when I confess my feelings to you! I understand it is your job to tempt and to tease but my poor heart can’t take it!”

“This is amazing!” Crowley shouts, laughing, clearly not hearing a word of Aziraphale’s anger. He lets out a whoop. Aziraphale stares at him, hurt filling every line in his face. 

“Crowley! This isn’t amazing! I tell you I love you and you act like this! I didn’t tell you so that you can make fun of me!” Aziraphale shouts, tearing himself away from Crowley and stands up. Hurt and shock flashes across Crowley’s face. 

“Angel! How could you think I’m making fun of you?” he asks, gently grabbing Aziraphale’s face. 

“Then why are you so happy?” the blond asks, biting his lower lip. 

“Because you love me!” Crowley runs his hand through his hair, an overjoyed look on his face. “That’s something I’ve been waiting to hear for 6000 years!” Crowley smiles, so brightly and beautifully that Aziraphale feels his heart beat faster in his chest.

“Oh.” Aziraphale reaches a hand up and touches Crowley’s face. “Crowley, can I kiss you?” Crowley nods enthusiastically and pulls Aziraphale in for a sloppy kiss. The angel’s knees weaken as the kiss continues. The blond lowers the two to the ground, tangling one hand in the brilliant red hair. The other hand trails up and down Crowley’s back.   
Aziraphale breaks away enough to stare into Crowley’s eyes. Crowley presses his forehead against the blond’s. 

“I love you, angel,” Crowley whispers. 

“I love you too.” Aziraphale leans forward for another kiss, pausing for Crowley to accept the kiss. This one is slow and full of passion. Crowley presses his tongue against Aziraphale’s lips before entering the blond’s mouth. He explores every inch of his love’s mouth, making Aziraphale groan.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers, pulling back. The demon whines and leans towards the angel. “Crowley, dear, we are on the floor and I have a comfortable couch that we could sit on. Plus, wouldn’t you like to finish your nap?” At the word ‘nap’ Crowley yawns.

“Trying to get rid of me, are ya, angel?” Crowley asks, pressing his forehead to Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“No, just making sure you are well rested for more...exciting activities,” Aziraphale says, nuzzling the side of Crowley’s neck. The ginger groans. “Come on, dear. Let’s get you to bed.” Aziraphale leads the way up to his bedroom. Crowley burrows under the covers. Aziraphale turns away when a slim hand grabs his wrist.

“Wait, will-will you stay?” Crowley mumbles, not meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. If he had looked up he would have seen the smile flash across the angel’s face. 

“Of course, dear!” Aziraphale curls up facing Crowley. The ginger presses close to his angel, wrapping an arm around a soft waist. “You talk in your sleep, dear.” Crowley stiffens slightly. 

“Do I?” he drawls sleepily. 

“Yeah. You called me your pretty angel,” Aziraphale says, stroking fiery red hair. 

“You are pretty, angel,” Crowley responds. 

“And I am yours,” Aziraphale murmurs. 

“And I’m yours.” The blond smiles brightly, wrapping his arms around Crowley. 

“Sleep well, my beautiful demon,” he whispers. Crowley says nothing as he burrows close to the man he loves.

For the first time in a long time, both men finally feel happy and at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> The quote Aziraphale says is from “Bedouin Love Song" by Bayard Taylor. Also, in my story Crowley can sense pain and sadness and such.
> 
> Thanks for reading! ❤️
> 
> Side note:I have never been in love so sorry for my word vomit :)


End file.
